Fit for each morbid mood of mind;
Murder and misery, want and woe were there
As large as life designed.
There was a fellow in a pretty fix,
"Tied to a corpse," all wild alarm,
Struggling across a sort of sooty Styx,
The "body" on his arm.
Or in a snow-choked city wretchedly,
Dead babe at breast, with bare blown hair,